Wolfish
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: The Death Eaters don't consider Greyback and Scabior good enough to attend meetings. They'll just have to keep each other company instead. Written for Doors.


Author's Notes: Written for Doors, who requested Greyback/Scabior smut. I hope it lives up to your standards!

Warning: somewhat dubious consent.

)O(

As was the case so often, now that the Dark Lord had gained power and the Death Eaters could gather freely in Malfoy Manor to discuss plans and drink bottle after bottle of the Malfoys' luxurious wine, Scabior and Greyback had been exiled from the meeting.

There had been many muttered arguments about whether Snatchers could be considered Death Eaters and thus allowed to attend meetings, but the ultimate decision, made by the Dark Lord himself and seconded by Lucius, was, infuriatingly, that they were not.

So it was that Scabior and Greyback were left to wander the grounds of Malfoy Manor, peering in the windows and seething over their exclusion.

"They don't want us in there, do they?" Scabior said carelessly. He leaned against the wall and pulled a small knife out of the pocket of his coat and flicked the blade open, using the tip to pick at his long, ragged fingernails. "It's only _proper_ Death Eaters in there, not the ones like us who do the real work."

Greyback snarled softly, glaring at the illuminated window. "It wouldn't kill them to let us sit in at their meetings."

"Funny you should say," said Scabior. He arched one eyebrow slightly. "Wouldn't put it past _you_ to kill them…"

He whirled on the spot, fixing Scabior with sharp glare. His yellowish eyes gleamed in the lamplight from the Malfoys' windows, but Scabior spared him only a glance before turning his attention to his nails again.

"You think I can't control myself when I want to?" Greyback snarled.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," said Scabior, not taking his eyes off his hands. He flexed his fingers, admiring the sharp, rough points he had cut his nails into and the way the light gleamed off of his silver ring – relic of the capture and death of some long-forgotten Mudblood. She'd been useless, if he recalled correctly, but she had had some taste in jewellery. "But I don't expect you'd want to, what with the little boy the Malfoys've got in there…"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Just that I know your taste for little boys…" Scabior flicked the knife shut and dropped it back into his pocket. "And Malfoy's son might be too much for you to resist… and that'd just get you into all sorts of trouble with the Dark Lord, now wouldn't it?" he added, with a mock-sorrowful pout.

"I can control–"

"'Course you can. 'Cept when your time of the month rolls around."

Greyback shoved him up against the wall and he winced as his head cracked against the stones. It knocked the breath out of him and he had to struggle to draw it in again.

"Watch it!" he panted.

Greyback growled, ignoring Scabior's protest. One of his large, rough-skinned hands wrapped around his throat, constricting his air supply.

"I said _watch it!_" He lashed out at Greyback and the Mudblood's ring caught his cheek, tearing the skin open. He growled and yanked his hand away from Scabior's neck to press against his own face and his fingers came away dripping with blood.

"You don't lay a hand on me," Scabior said, all sneering and mocking gone from his tone, replaced with pure, cold anger. "D'you hear me?"

"Then _don't_ say–"

"What, that you can't stop yourself killing once a month? Or that you fancy little boys? Nothing wrong with telling the truth, is there?" Scabior sneered.

Greyback grabbed him by his shoulders again, but this time he was ready and he brought up one leg, ramming his knee against his groin and then breathing heavily as Greyback doubled over in pain.

"Bastard," Greyback hissed, raising his head. His upper lip curled back, revealing pointed, yellowing teeth. Scabior considered kicking again, catching him right between the eyes and sending him reeling backwards with a boot print on his face, but that would have been nothing short of stupidity. If he did that, he doubted he would be able to survive.

"Poor doggie," he said quietly, smirking.

In hindsight, kicking might have been safer.

Greyback lurched to his feet, grabbing Scabior by the front of his coat, and slammed him to the ground. He struggled, trying to throw him off, but Greyback was much larger and much stronger.

"Get off me!" snarled Scabior, and was silenced Greyback's hand pressing over his mouth. He tried to bite it, but couldn't do anything more than scrape the skin with his teeth, and besides that, he was being distracted by what Greyback's _other_ had was doing.

At first, he thought that Greyback was going to be getting back at him for the knee to the groin. He winced as he felt his hand moving roughly between his legs, spreading them apart, and bit his tongue in an attempt to prepare for what he assumed would be an agonizing blow, but it didn't come.

"The _fuck_ are you–" he demanded, his voice muffled by Greyback's hand, but he broke off sharply when he heard the distinctive sound of fabric tearing and felt cold air against his skin.

He froze.

"I swear to God, Greyback, if you–" he began, speaking loudly to make himself heard, but before he could even finish the sentence, Greyback had pulled his hand off his mouth, wrenched him to his feet and slammed him against the wall again. Scabior struggled, but Greyback had pulled his trousers down to around his knees and that made it very, very difficult to fight.

Then Greyback's hand wrapped around Scabior's cock and he almost immediately stopped _wanting_ to fight.

"Fuck…" he hissed through gritted teeth. This was not what he had been expecting at all, and though Greyback's skin was coarse and his touch more than a little careless, it was far better than being beaten to within an inch of his life, which was what he had fully expected to happen. Before he had even entirely realized it, he was bucking against his hand and digging his fingers into his shoulders to keep himself upright. There was a part of him – not a small part either – that was berating himself for not fighting back, because he was sure that he could have, if he had wanted. He was never going to hear the end of this; Greyback was going to be impossible to work with; he'd always be making snide comments and mocking him when no one else could hear and–

"Bloody- _Hell…_"

One more hard tug and Scabior groaned in delight. His back arched and every muscle in his body clenched, and he could feel his seed spurting across Greyback's hand. Then he was shoved back against the wall again, and it took several moments of blinking before the world came into focus.

He looked up at Greyback, who was standing over him with a self-satisfied sneer, wiping his hand on his shirt.

"Oh, that's cute," Scabior said. He was trying hard to regain his composure – not an easy task with his trousers still down and his face flushed. "Very cute. I'm never going to hear the bloody end of this, am I?"

"No," Greyback said, with the a small and absolutely infuriating grin. "You're not."

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
